Pulmonary Embolism: The Whole Story, Part 2: Getting Diagnosed

So, with the doctor's orders, and with B still swearing he had a broken rib, off to Harris Methodist ER we went. We got back immediately where they did another EKG (which showed the same things as the first). Eventually they drew some blood, which they told us came back showing clotting, so blood clots it was. The next step was a CT to determine where the blood clots were. Turns out they were in the lining of the lungs--which explains the pain. At this point, the assumption was that the clots had started in his leg--thus, the leg pain--and had traveled to his lungs, which is pretty common.


At this point, we had been in the ER for nearly 6 hours and we knew they were most likely admitting him, but we had yet to see a doctor. We were hungry and tired and worried. I finally complained. While B went for yet another test, a very abrupt ER doctor took all of 2 minutes to tell me that they found clots in his lungs (which I had already been told by our nurse), that he would need to be admitted (which I had been told by another nurse), and that he would be put on blood thinners (duh!). We asked if he could eat and they said yes, so I went to the cafeteria.

We finally ate around 10:45 while still waiting for a room. And this was when I had my first meltdown. Here is was almost 11:00 pm and our babies hadn't eaten since 5:30am (normal time) or pottied since around 1:00pm. But, I didn't want to leave until they put B in a room (really, I didn't want to leave him at all, but knew I needed to), but I also didn't want the babies suffering. So, B suggested I call Scott and ask him to go. Bless Scott. He got out of bed at 10:45 to drive to our house (now, before you go feeling all sorry for him, he lives exactly 6 minutes from us) and feed and potty the pups. But, of course, I still felt horrible that they were home alone and probably confused.

Close to midnight, the nurse shift changed and the new nurse came in to check on us. Once again, we asked about a room. This time we were informed that he would be staying in the ER as there were no rooms available--in the entire hospital. Yes, seriously. (And, you know, I get that it is an ER and they are really busy, but you can't tell a person who is waiting that he is not getting a room that night? Really?) At this point, we realized I could not stay any longer, so I went home and B tried to sleep.

Thursday (3/11) morning, B was taken down for a sonogram to make sure he had no more clots his legs. When he came back up, he had moved to a tiny room in the ER. The room was so small that they could not even have a regular hospital bed in there, just the gurney with the crappy pad. But, it was a private room with a door and TV, so we took it. Overnight, he had been put on oxygen because the heart monitor kept beeping. At no point was he ever actually short of breath, it just hurt to take deep breaths, so he didn't. That cause oxygen levels to lower, and the machine beeped. Our regular doctor had also come in to see him that morning before I arrived and told him what we had not been wanting to say outloud--that he could have died. We still try not to actually say that outloud. We know it, we understand it, but that's just a lot. Over the course of the day, we waited--mostly impatiently--for a room. We were told on multiple occasions that we may not have a room that day. B was also put through a couple of other tests for his heart "just to be sure." All of these tests confirmed what the EKG had already told us--nothing wrong with his heart. We were also visited by the pulmonologist who asked a lot of questions and gave few answers. Gotta love doctors sometimes.

Around 5:00 pm, we were finally given the news that they had a room for him (note, we had been in the ER for over 25 hours). But, they had to take him down for an echo on his heart first. Poor guy. All he wanted was to get to a room so he could shower, change clothes, and get in a comfortable bed. But, he was there soon enough and got to do all those things.

More to come on the hospital stay . . .

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